She awoke, blinking sleepily as she did most mornings, to the realization that this day was different somehow.  Languidly stretching her body to reach every corner of the double bed, she collided with something warm.  That warmth brought back to mind today's variation in her usual morning routine as of late:  Her husband was there with her.

He had been working diligently for the past month amid what remained of the twin towers of the World Trade Center, which had been struck down just six weeks ago by suicide bombers in hijacked airliners.  Being only a volunteer firefighter, he lacked the crucial official training for crises such as this, and had thought it wise to pull out of the project before his presence began creating more problems than it helped.  He had come home the previous night, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, his usually-sparkling blue eyes more lackluster than she had ever seen them.

This morning, though, he was relatively clean.  The only reminder of his hard efforts in New York was the rough stubble adorning his chin and jawline, and the light snoring which suggested that he had sunk deeply into sleep.  The house had seemed so deathly silent during his absence that she even welcomed these sounds of his slumber which had irked her so in the past.  Though, right now, even that slight indication of his presence didn't seem to be enough.  She had missed him so much, and she wanted him to be awake, to talk with her in his low, groggy morning voice.

She had so many things on which to fill him in.  First, she would break to him the little bits of local news she suspected he had been too tired to endure last night:  the success of Mr. Gorman's double-bypass operation, Martin Spencer's upcoming wedding, the theft of Mrs. Luther's van from the church parking lot.  None of these things had seemed terribly important upon her first hearing them, but now that someone had come along who didn't know of them, the words were straining to burst from her mouth.

For a long moment, she watched him sleep.  He looked so peaceful lying there beside her, she hated to even think of disturbing him.  Yet as the seconds dragged on her loneliness at being conscious without his company, being so close to and so far away from him, ate further and further away at her aching heart.  It took only a glance around the room to make her decision; her eyes had fallen on the clear plastic canister which the couple kept filled with Gummi Bears at all times.  What better thing to awaken to than the sweet taste of the red Gummi Bears that he loved so much?

Slipping out of bed, she tiptoed across the chilly wood floor to the canister and picked out five red bears.  She made sure to crawl back into bed and primp for several seconds, for his first morning view of his wife in over a month, before dropping one of the red candies into his open mouth.

His light snoring ceased almost immediately, which was pleasing to her.  With that, though, his involuntary breathing had stopped.  A split second later, his eyes popped open, glazed, frantic.

The near silence, warded off only by the crisp rustle of new bed sheets, was what kept her, for several seconds, oblivious to what was happening.  The feeling of panic manifested in his eyes shot out to stab her through the heart like a cold knife, and it spread through her quickly, constricting the muscles of her throat in its death grip and sending her stomach an icy shock.  Even then, knowing what she knew, she sat perfectly still.  She was frozen, unable to move, paralysed by her fear and disbelief, and without a clue as to what to do anyway.  In defiance of her prayers, her instinctive helplessness did not in the slightest decrease, but instead was beginning to multiply, consuming her.

In the span of a few milliseconds, she had lost all control of her thoughts and actions.  Her mouth flew open, releasing an incoherent, earsplitting shriek that swelled from deep within her, seemingly without end or even a pause in sight.  Possibly, she was subconsciously trying to empty her lungs, so as to feel the same wracking desperation for air that he did now.

Her incapacitating panic soon gave way to the pressing urge to sob uncontrollably.  Fitfully, she collapsed at her husband's side, trying her hardest to resuscitate him while tears fell from her eyes, blurring her vision, dampening his neck and chest.  The battle, she knew but was unwilling to acknowledge, was one that she was too rapidly losing.  Against her own, she could feel the trembling of his lips beginning to ease.

"Please!  Please don't do this!  I love you!" she cried hysterically, slamming his chest over and over again with the palm of her hand.  He, however, had dropped out of consciousness, and the sudden fear struck her of his never awakening to hear her plea again.

She stumbled to the phone and grabbed for the receiver.  Her hands were shaking too badly to dial the emergency number, and her eyes refused to focus on anything but the haze clouding her world.  For several seconds she remained there, useless to him and to herself, gulping in air to calm herself, then, falling short of success, decided that the time for her composure had run out and made a second attempt to dial.  Her goal this time was reached.

Between sobs, hiccups, and hungry gasps for air, she stammered the horrible news.  When told to disconnect, she dropped the phone, missing the cradle by a long shot.  There the receiver hung, dangling from its short, cream-coloured cord, beeping in a furious demand for attention until the people in white coats wheeled the man out of the house for the last time, keeping company with the anguished woman who had wanted only that in the first place, and hadn't gotten it.

If only she had let him sleep, he would not now be sleeping forever.